


the things i'll never say

by soulofme



Series: we’re living in the moment [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, Photography, Pining, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: we're just like a puzzle. (you complete me.)





	the things i'll never say

_Click_. Blue sky, yellow sun, green leaves. The picture of summer, with the wind in her hair and the fluttering of her skirt. She smiles, easy, even, white little teeth and juice-stained lips. Sickly sweet, the kind of thing you usually avoid.

 _Click_. The beat-up sedan, paint chipping, rust on the wheels. An old, ugly thing that smells like your brother after the gym (mother doesn't trust him with his own car). She doesn't laugh when you pick her up in it. She opens the door and sits inside like she belongs there. Isn't  _that_ a thought?

 _Click_. The ocean, with deep blue waves and golden sand, warm and gritty between your toes. Her laugh sounds like a bell, somehow more beautiful than the postcard-perfect scene before you. Something curls around your heart, tight and vicious, and it hurts like a bitch. But you like it, the pain, the pleasure, the maddening combination of both.

You lay back on the rumpled towel beneath you, hold a hand up to the sky and pretend you can hold it in your palm. She drops down carelessly on the ground beside you, laughing, skirt flowing soft around her hips, a black Polaroid camera in her hands. She waves it emphatically and you think about the pictures laying on the sound, spread out and vulnerable, for the whole world to see. Little memories that feel sweeter in your head, hidden from everyone, something special no one else will get to see.

"Thank you for coming," she says, still smiling. It's infuriatingly gorgeous. "I was able to get some really great shots. I might even use some of yours."

She reaches for one of your photos, a personal favorite of yours. Her, standing in the surf, head thrown back, bathed in a warm golden light. Her followers will love it. Not more than you do.

"You're pretty good at this," she says, sounding awed, pleasantly surprised and everything.

You wrinkle your nose, tilt your cap down over your forehead. Block out the dying sun and the salty breeze and her smile, her goddamn  _smile_. You don't tell her how you only did this for her, how a little picture doesn't do her justice, that you'd rather experience this, experience  _her_ , in real time, with no sand or ocean or space between you.

"Am I?" 

You turn to look at the pictures, not focusing on one thing for too long, and you feel her eyes on you, on what you've created, and you wonder if it's obvious. You wonder if she knows how much you cherish this, cherish  _her_. The pictures don't do her justice, you think again. None of this does.

"Yeah," she laughs, breathless. "But you're good at everything, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Not true," you say automatically, but you don't elaborate.

There is, of course, a list you've compiled of things you suck at. Mental, of course, because you like to ruminate over your failures on your own. The list goes a little bit like this: cooking, dancing, feeling. Cooking is a work in progress, dancing isn't really that important, and feeling is a lost cause. That's the one most people seem to get. Feeling. The people around you feel without consequences. It's incredibly organic, undoubtedly liberating, and you always wonder what it's like to not repress yourself.

No inhibitions sounds dangerous, but you've seen it. You're not jealous of your brother, but you envy his ability to feel so simply. _It's very easy_ , he'd said once, because he's the only person who can see through your barriers, _you just take a step back and don't think about it. Do what feels good, even if that may not be right. Don't hurt others, but most importantly, don't hurt yourself._ Wise words, from a boy who's never been in love. But he's right. For once. Crazy how that happens.

"Hey," she says, seemingly brushing off your vague response. "Thanks. Really."

You don't know what to say, what to do. You could thank her back. Thank you for letting you stick around, for being your friend, for letting you be  _her_ friend. It seems simple, expressing such gratitude, but you can't. You refuse to acknowledge any feelings you have about this, about  _her_ , because you cannot let yourself get hurt. You have walls for a reason. They're not meant to tear down.

"Yeah," you say, a casual answer that betrays nothing. It feels safe. Relief tastes sweet on your tongue. "C'mon. Let's go."

You gather up your things, head back to your shitty car and pile everything on the backseat. She gets sand everywhere, laughs as it scrapes between her toes, and you take a deep breath. In. Out. Over and over until none of this feels like much of anything, until this is just another outing between two friends.

You press your key into the ignition. The car rumbles to life.

You drive away, sun tucked in your pocket, feelings left behind for the waves to destroy.

**Author's Note:**

> i love this ship but i love suffering more :)))


End file.
